


It's In The Eyes

by agoodtuckering



Series: Doctor Who Oneshots and Stories [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Angst, F/M, Heartache, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: The Doctor and Clara share a meal together and perhaps they say some things that desperately need saying.





	It's In The Eyes

**_It's in the eyes._ **

**_I can tell, you will always be danger._ **

**_We had it tonight._ **

**_Why do we always seek absolution?_ **

**_― Mumford & Sons_ **

* * *

They were sitting beside one another, eyes trained a dreamy, starry night sky. His hands were stuffed into his pockets to keep warm from the chilly, breezy evening air on the planet they’d come to for tonight. Maymia, as it was called by the locals. A lovely little place. They had ventured to the market and then got themselves dinner before wandering their way back out into the field they’d landed in with the TARDIS.

It was quiet for a while as they ate their meals, both rather contemplative and thoughtful. Eventually, he cast a blue gaze her way and arched a single, questioning brow. “Why are you being so quiet?” His voice was lowered, curious.

He was doing that thing again, that thing where he blamed the silence between them on her.

“I’m not,” she simply said, suddenly feeling the need to defend herself. “I’m just… enjoying my dinner. Aren’t you?” Her eyes, brown and questioning, drifted his way. He was already studying her, though, as she soon learned. And she sat up the slightest bit straighter, something that looked strangely like a takeaway container — _alien takeaway, how marvelous_ — resting in her petite hands.

“I am,” he replied, clearly amused — she could have sworn that she caught a tiny tug of his lips, a twitch, something akin to a grin, before he set his own bowl aside and fell back to lie in the plum-colored grass.

“Don’t you do that,” she urged him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

His eyes were trained on the gorgeous sky, lips pursed in silent contemplation once again. As if, albeit false, he hadn’t heard her words. She set her own container aside before lying back as well. She was at his side, tucking her coat behind her head to use as a makeshift pillow.

After a while, he said, “One day I won’t be able to enjoy this with you.”

At his words, her head snapped in his direction. If it weren’t for the darkness, he would have seen the confusion in her eyes. Surely. “What do you mean?” she asked, swallowing hard afterward.

His head turned, eyes finding Clara’s features in the darkness and lingering there. “One day you won’t be here,” he said softly. “I worry about losing you. Constantly. One day I won’t be… enough. One day I won’t be fast enough, or strong enough. One day I’ll lose you.”

His honesty took her by surprise. It rocked her to her very core, in fact. She could only stare blankly at him for a moment, eyes going wide, before finally attempting to speak. “You don’t know that,” she said, voice most certainly not _her own._ It was too meek, too mousy.

She found herself drawn to him, moving even the slightest bit closer and seeking his warmth and comfort — even if their bodies never touched. “I might lose _you_ one day,” she finally said, voicing her own fears aloud. “Have you thought about that? What that would do to me?”

He scoffed. “What _would it_ do to you, Clara? You would be far better off. Let’s be honest about one thing: I’m no good for you. I can’t even protect you, most of the time. If I was gone, you’d be safer. You could… have a family, settle down, be a _teacher._ A proper one, you know. You could do all the funny little things that Pudding Brains adore so very much. Don’t you want that?”

“I tried the domestic-ish thing, yeah? Didn’t work. It wasn’t me,” she simply said, although it was her eyes this time that gave her emotions away. Not her voice. He knew that she was referring to Danny. A piece of his soul shattered every time she mentioned P.E.

“Maybe you just didn’t try it with the right guy,” he told her, brogue soft and warm and thick, like honey. Like music to her ears. Gods, she _loved_ that voice of his.

She chuckled at that. Oh, the irony. _Did he even know?_ “No,” she said, “maybe I didn’t. Or maybe I’m just not the ‘settling type’.”

His eyes floated back towards the starry sky, but her voice lulled him back to the here-and-now. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” she told him, and it was all she told him. But she might as well have uttered a soft, ‘I love you, Doctor’ as far as he was concerned.

His breath caught in his throat, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the woman beside him. She took it as a sign — a sign that he suddenly understood, in every way, just how she felt about him. Not that she’d ever made it a mystery, mind. She couldn’t help it. Not with those eyes of hers, or her kindness. Or her anger, her never-giving-up. Her everything.

“Thank you for dinner,” she suddenly said, _needing_ to speak and shatter the sudden and painful silence that had so easily befallen them. “And thank you for not making me pay for once. It’s not like I just wander about the Universe with you with a few extra Credits tucked away in a pocket, you know. Most of the time, anyway.”

Time froze for a moment as his fingers reached for hers. If anything, it surprised her. _Thoroughly._

“What am I going to do with you, Clara Oswald?”

His voice was soft, lowered. His fingers squeezed hers before drawing away. She watched, in the dim moonlight, as he sat up. An arm propped him up, head tilted back to admire the stars.

She sat up as well, a teasing grin finding her lips as she began to pack up their empty containers and clean up after them. “I’m sticking with you, you daft old man,” she simply told him, even if he was anything but in her eyes. It had become a sweet little nickname for him. And she practically _heard_ the smile that found his lips.

“Seriously,” she told him. “You won’t be getting rid of me so easily. I can promise you that.”

He stood, offering her a hand and chuckling to himself after. “No such luck for me, eh? What a shame,” he murmured, teasing he as best as he could, if only to lighten the mood.

For a moment, as he gazed down at her, she wondered if he might kiss her. But he didn’t. He did no such thing. His eyes roamed, drifted about her features, and for a flicker of a second, he even looked as if he might say something. But no words ever left the Time Lord's lips.

Together, a blanket and food containers in hand, they wandered through the lavender and plum-colored grass back to the TARDIS. A quiet, companionable silence came over them as they went. He was contemplating his words from earlier, as was she. There was no need to speak. No need to fill the air and the space between them with unneeded words. They loved each other, and they knew it, and that was really all they needed tonight.

He would take her home, drop her off in her bedroom, maybe even stay for a while, and then he would leave. Until the next Wednesday. And the next. And the next. And perhaps one day they would find the courage to say what was in their hearts.

_Perhaps one day. Before it was too late._


End file.
